


Blood Brothers

by orphan_account



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Backstory, F/M, Gang Violence, alternative universe, mentions of torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-27
Updated: 2015-07-13
Packaged: 2018-04-01 13:14:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4021177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The letter slipped between his fingers and drifted down to the dirty floor, the looping cursive of blue ink smudging in the rain.</p><p>"Why didn't you tell me I had a brother? Why didn't you tell me he was in a fucking rival gang? I could have killed him!"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sunrise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first time I've ever posted a fic, so please be kind children.

"What do you mean you are pregnant?"

His voice cracked. It held an air of finality to it. Certainly when spoken by her. She barley looked up from her magazine as she spoke, her blood red lips pressing into a straight line. The only noise in the house was that of his own frantic breathing, accompanied by the babbling sounds of Vladimir playing in the next room. She herself made no sound- she never did.

"Exactly what you just said. I am pregnant. I am carrying another child" she replied, her tone just as impassive as her face. The only thing giving away the fact she was feeling any emotions was the tapping of her fingers on the table top. It was a habit he noticed she done often, fingers twitching to be wrapped around a gun.

"Ailani, this is serious. Sylvestor doesn't want any of us to have anymore kids. He knows about Vladimir because he thought I fucked a whore in Yaroslavl, but if he finds out that you of all people are carrying my child.." He cuts himself off, scrubbing a hand down his face. Vlasta had always prized himself on managing to keep himself calm in stressful situations. It had helped him with his sports in highschool, and when his injury came, it had helped him survive a gang environment. He had been twenty one when a fellow track star had came to him, saying that the Orekhovskaya gang were interested in him. The rest, as they say, was history. He went with the man easily enough and joined that night, unaware of the horrors which would be presented to him in the following years.

His thoughts trailed off when Ailani stands, dumbing a duffel bag at his feet with a dull thud. "That is why you must take Vladimir and go." Her tone holds no room for argument, and as if to emphasise her point, she flicks her tumbling blonde curls over her shoulder. 

Ailani Ivanoz is the daughter of Oleg Ivanoz, leader of the Izmaylovskaya gang, who are a rising power in Moscow. She's utterly fearless, and stunningly violent- he cannot help but compare her to a marble statue. Unbreakable and carved from stone. Once her father dies she will take charge of the gang, and he cannot help but think that the Russian underworld will never be the same again.

"What about you? Where will you go?" He asks slowly, shouldering the bag. He is dully aware it's a stupid question- her fathers doors are always open to her and she already has many safe houses scattered across Moscow- yet he couldn't help but ask. He always knew this moment would come, the moment they must separate. It had been obvious from the start, with them being in separate gangs. But God, he loved her, and he cherished every single second he had in her presence. She was an avenging angel walking on earth.

"You know where I will go, Vlasta. My father wants me home." Her tone is almost gentle, and some of the coldness in her features melt away. She moves forward, feet silent against the floorboards, and stops in front of him. Her cold fingers stroke against the rough stubble of his face, soothing the stinging lacerations on his cheek. "You knew this day would come, my dear. Do not despair, both me and our little boy will fair well."

A small smile spreads across his face and he looks down, his eyes beginning to sting. He scrubs at his face and can't help but feel foolish- he will never see her cry. "A boy? You know already?" He asks quietly, playing with the ends of her soft hair. The bag suddenly feels like an almighty weight on his shoulders and he slumps; he doesn't want to go. 

"I have decided he will be a boy, so a boy he will be. He will be strong, and I will name him after your father." Her tone is the softest he's ever heard it, like she is talking to a wounded animal. He doesn't know whether he likes it or not.

"Little Anatoly. And his big brother Vladimir. The ruler of the world and the sunrise. I like it" he replies weakly, leaning forward to kiss her for the last time. He feels her nimble fingers curl around his neck and her lipstick smear against his mouth. There was an old story in his gang that Ivanoz's daughters lips are bright red because she paints them with the blood of her enemies. If only they knew.

She pulls away from him first, sliding an envelope out from under her magazine and handing it to him. "Give this to Vladimir when he is eighteen years old. I want him to know about me, and why I have made this decision. I want him to know he has a brother." She says curtly,wrapping her arms around her front. He knows she's not trying to be cold, and is simply trying to keep her emotions at bay. He wishes he had the strength to do the same.

He nods his head in promise and mimes crossing his fingers over his heart. "I promise I will" he agrees strongly, shuffling from foot to foot. The end has come, and the atmosphere is somber. He will not see her again. He nods once more, mostly to reassure himself, before stepping away from her. "Do you need to say goodbye to-"

Her raised hand cuts him off and she shakes her head, sitting back down in her seat heavily. "No. He is young, he will forget this. I cannot.." She trails off and builds back up her mask, her features turning stony. "No, I am not saying goodbye. He will ask too many questions. Tell him what you please, but take him now."

Vlasta swallows his protest and nods jerkily, crossing the room. He pauses at the door and foolishly looks back, and it's takes every ounce of his strength not to crawl back to her. 'This is for Vladimir. This is for our children' he reminds himself. He clears his throat and straightens his spine, his hands forming fists by his side.

"Goodbye Ailani" he says quietly, closing his eyes. "Goodbye little Anatoly" he adds, his voice cracking. His fingers twitch at his side and he clenches his jaw. 'This is for your children' he reminds himself yet again. For Vladimir and the son he will never know. "Until we meet again in the next life" he finishes, swallowing hard and wiping the wetness off his cheeks, before quickly fleeing the room. 

 

 

Vladimir is sleeping when he picks him up from his bed and leaves the house, a factor which he is enternally grateful for. He thinks that if the boy had started crying that he probably would have joined in with him.  
It's beginning to snow when he walks out to his car, the frigid Russian winter moving in from the North. He gently deposits his son into his seat, strapping him in carefully before climbing into his own seat, taking a moment to calm himself down before starting the car. His movement are jerky and stiff, and his eyes are blurry with tears. He presses his booted foot against the acceleration, furiously wiping at his eyes before driving out into the inky black of the night. This time, he doesn't make the mistake of looking back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone knows anything else about Izmaylovskaya gang then feel free to tell me- Google didn't provide me with as much information as the Orekhovskaya gang did.
> 
> (The Orekhovskaya gang mostly consisted of former sportsmen ranging from the ages 19-25, and became one of the most powerful gangs in Russia)
> 
> Thank you for reading, and if you wanna suggest something for the next chapter I'm all ears.


	2. Ghosts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anatolys POV
> 
> I'm writing this on mobile, have mercy on my poor soul.

The screaming had lasted for three hours before the man's voice finally gave out. Anatoly couldn't help but feel eternally grateful- his ears were ringing and there was a frigid chill setting in the air. He pulled his jacket around him tighter and suppressed a shudder, his mothers forceful voice echoing thoughout the empty warehouse.

"I am going to ask you one more time Nikoli, tell me what you know of the Orekhovskaya gang." Her tone was low and soft- an illusion to get people talking. In her right hand the knife glistened red, her fingers slick with blood. Her left hand held the man's head up, fingers gripped in his hair in a way that looked almost painful.

"I-I don't know! I don't know! There was a fight, some were injured-"

He was cut off when she slammed the blade into his thigh, the metal hilt being the only part visible. His mothers facade dropped and she pulled him close, teeth bared and eyes wild. Anatoly shifted from foot to foot behind her, edging closer. He wanted to see this.

"Who? Give me names!" She bit out, twisting the knife savagely when he didn't speak. His screams turned into pained gasps as she stopped, and he turned his head to the side to spit.

"I don't..there was ten injured. Two taken hostage. One of the guys and his son." He trails off, his eyebrows furrowed. "V..Vlasta Ranskahov! That was his name! They gave no information so the boss made us cut them. Ranskahov had two of his fingers taken, and they punctured his lung. He was a mess, coughing blood and passing out. I don't know if he lived. His son wasn't as badly injured, a few broken ribs. But one of the other interrogators took his eye, cause he was being a cheeky bastard. Slid a knife right down his forehead to his cheek. Last time I saw him he was alive, but with an attitude like that? I'm surprised he didn't have his tongue cut out."

The effect on his mother is instantaneous. Her breath comes out short, and she pales in a way he's never seen her do before. 

"Mother?" He asks quietly, stepping forward to put his hand on her shoulder. The muscles underneath his fingers are tense, and he tilts his head to the side in confusion. "Mother, what is it?" He asks again, and this time she moves. 

The knife slides swiftly across the mans throat and she sighs, dropping the blade into its sheath at her side. She drops a hand around his shoulder and turns them both away, away from the body in the chair and out into the peaceful night.

Once they are outside she kneels infront of him, and he feels gentle fingers swipe across the cheek. 'To clean the blood', his mind dully supplies. Her lips are pressed into an unhappy line, and it's only this and the twitching of her fingers which gave away her worry. 

"Mother? Who is Vlasta? Why did you care so much about him and his son?"

Her fingers still and she sighs again, her expression going soft. It's an expression only reserved for him, so he doesn't waste any time smiling back at her shyly. "He's a ghost of my past. It does not matter. I have you to worry about, my child."

She's deliberately avoiding his question, so he swallows his curiosity and simply wraps his skinny arms around her. "Does this mean we're going to visit Grampa now? Since you killed the man? I wanna show him my new gun! He told me I gotta learn how to use it, if I'm gonna help you run the Izmaylovskaya. He says when I grow up I'm gonna look after you and the rest of us."

She chuckles above his head and he feels her standing, slipping her hand into his own. "Yes, you get to go see Grampa. And I've got to go make some inquiries."

He frowns slightly and squeezes her hand. "About the ghosts?" He asks, his expression thoughtful.

She looks down at him, and he pretends not to notice that her smile is impossibly sad. "Yes, my sunshine. About the ghosts."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This happens thirteen years after my first chapter, so Antoly is 12 and Vladimir is 16. Vladimirs chapter is up next, and everything will be explained!


	3. Spitfire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yet again that was been written on my phone, so feel free you tell me any mistakes.
> 
> *EDIT*  
> I am so sorry, but the fic is on a hiatus for I don't know how long. I've sort of lost interest in this particular piece and don't want to force myself to continue. I will try to find the motivation to continue, but until then, you can let your mind run wild.

The constant beeping noise from his father's heart monitor was beginning to give him a headache, and Vladimir pinched the bridge of his nose, scrubbing a hand down his face. He rose from the uncomfortable hospital chair and stretched out his disused muscles, wincing slightly as his healing ribs shot sharp sparks of pain across his upper torso. 

It had been nine days since they had been rescued from the warehouse, and his father had failed to awaken. Such a fact already worried him greatly, but for days now different members of the Orekhovskaya gang had stood guard of the intensive care ward, not letting anyone but himself in.

After three more days of this, and no explanation no matter how many times he asked , his patience was wearing extremely thin. On the fifth day of constant surveillance he grabbed Sergei, pulling him into the room and locking the door.

Sergei Kogan was two years Vladimir's senior, and at the age of eighteen had began his proper transition into the gang. He was Vladimir's best friend- his only friend- and more often than not devolved in secrets he probably shouldn't tell.

The boy in question looked slightly disgruntled at being unceremoniously hauled into the room, his thick eyebrows creasing together into a frown. 

"Vladimir, wha-" his sentence trails off when he see's the blondes heated glare, and he resorts to frowning again.

Vladimir nods once his friend has quieted down and absentmindedly fiddles with the thick bandages covering the entire right side of his face, trying to keep calm.

Across the room Sergei's eyes follow these movements and his features soften. "How is it? Still sore?" He asks quietly, dipping his head so he can get a better look at his friends face. He hadn't seen him since before Vladimir had went missing, and was seething when he found out he had been scarred. 

The blonde scoffs in response, waving his concern away with a hand. "It's fine. I'm going to have a big ugly scar for the rest of my life, but I'm alive. Now, I didn't pull you in here so you could coddle me. What's going on?"

The older boy frowns yet again, crossing his arms defensively. "I don't know-"

"Don't bullshit me! I know something's going on. Sylvester isn't suddenly interested in protecting men in the hospital unless they are in danger. For five days now people have been guarding that-" he points viciously at the door, his teeth bared "- my father has been unconscious for twelve days now and I'm going to loose my goddamn mind sitting in this boring fucking hospital. I was in that fucking warehouse for three days, watching them carve up my father for information he didn't fucking have. So please Sergei, don't fucking bullshit me and say you don't know. Cause I will take that gun you think you're so subtly hiding in the back of your jeans and shove it so far up your ass you'll never find it."

His tirade finishes with a snarl and he begins to pace, the only noises in the room being his own angered breathing and the rythamtic noise of the machine.

Some part of him was dully aware that he might have went too far, Sergei was his only friend, and was only trying to do his job. He spins on his heels, an apology on the tip of his tongue when he collides with a firm chest.

Strong arms wrap about his bruised frame and he all but melts into the embrace from his friend, letting his forehead drop against the taller mans collarbone.

"Shit Vlad, I didn't know you were so wound up. I'm so sorry spitfire, I would have come sooner. It's just.." He trails off, looking from side to side before lowering his voice and stepping back.

"One of your captors was found dead in a warehouse. Had been tortured, got his throat slit. And do you want to know something? We didn't do it. That was the first tip off. Then two days later one of our undercover guys come in saying a blonde from the Izmaylovskaya gang was asking for your dad. He asked her why and she said it would be a shame if he died, since they still have things to sort out. Sylvester said she's high up in the ranks, she's good at what she does. Can make a grown man cry, or something. So he doesn't want her coming here while Vlasta is weak and trying to get any information."

Vladimir remains silent for a long moment, digesting the information given to him. 

"They're so pathetic they would go for the weak?" He scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest. Avoiding the obvious for now, but he would have time to analyse the imminent fact later."We should just kill them. They're a small gang anyway, we can take them."

Sergei laughs indulgingly at his friends hot headedness, ruffling his hair jokingly. "Yeah, that's great spitfire. Just kill them all without any planning, that's totally not a one way ticket to the Gulag. Now, can I go back now before Yuri notices I'm gone? Cause he'll kick my ass."

Vladimir laughs at this and moves to unlock the door, sticking his head out to make sure no ones there.

"Yeah, get out of here. I'm going to nap now." He responds pointedly, gesturing for the other to leave.

Just as his friend is exiting the room however vladimir catches his arm, causing him to pause momentarily.

"And Sergei, thank you. You're a good friend."

The brunette grins in response, winking at him. "Hell yeah I am. Now fuck off and rest. Sylvester wants you in gun training tomorrow. And in leassons on how to hold your fucking tongue." And with that, the door clicks shut and Vladimir's left alone once again.

"Jackass" he mumbles fondly, tapping his fingers against his chin thoughtfully. He wanders back to the uncomfortable chair and sits down heavily, eyes combing over his fathers motionless form. 

"The Izmaylovskaya. What have you gotten yourself into now?" He asks out loud, his eyebrows creasing together in deep thought.

The electronic noise of his fathers heartbeat is all that answers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so so sorry this is so incredibly late. I promise updates with come regularly now.
> 
> Things are starting to move along quickly now, as I have a plot for when they meet. If you're confused feel free to ask my any questions. 
> 
> My tumblr is fearlessleaderr or Vladimirranskahovv if you wanna shout at me

**Author's Note:**

> If anyone knows anything else about Izmaylovskaya gang then feel free to tell me- Google didn't provide me with as much information as the Orekhovskaya gang did. 
> 
> (The Orekhovskaya gang mostly consisted of former sportsmen ranging from the ages 19-25, and became one of the most powerful gangs in Russia)
> 
> Thank you for reading, and if you wanna suggest something for the next chapter I'm all ears.


End file.
